One More Time
by sheepish123
Summary: When the pursuit of a rapist goes horribly wrong, a detective's life slowly ebbs away on a chilly, rainy rooftop. Takes place during "Mood". MAJOR TRIGGER WARNING in the author's note. Very short one-shot. Amanda/Olivia pairing.


**_MAJOR TRIGGER WARNING_: This story centers on the aftermath of gun violence and the death of a main character so please be aware of that before reading any further, if you think these subject matters will bother you. **

**I've never written a fic like this before and I usually avoid reading the ones where a character dies, but I'm trying to work through some personal stuff and this idea came to mind, so I wanted to follow through with it. **

**This story takes place during the season 19 episode "Mood", when Amanda is chasing Tom Williams across the roof of a building after he attempts to rape Vivian Stevens, and Olivia is downstairs in the woman's apartment. I've put my own spin on the episode. **

**Jesse and Frannie don't exist in this fic.  
**

**I decided to try something new with this story, so I wrote it in the second person. **

xxxxxxxxxx

"_Kiss me darling, one more time_

_With everything that you've got inside_

_Kiss me darling, one more time_

_'Cause love's the only thing we leave behind."_

xxxxxxxxxx

Life goes on after you die, and you're not sure if it's a comforting thought or a terrifying one; that the world will not grind to a sudden halt in order to mourn your passing but will keep right on turning like nothing noteworthy has taken place, with only a handful of people even aware that your short time on this planet has come to an end.

You'll be gone forever; a tiny, insignificant speck of history that will gradually fade into obscure remembrances in the minds of those still living, until one day every single person you've ever met will be gone as well, and you will cease to exist entirely, not even enduring as a memory.

You cannot seem to stop these deep and introspective thoughts from running rampantly through your head, the overwhelming panic that has been simmering near the forefront of your mind shoved back just enough to allow a brutally honest look at your current circumstances. You are surprisingly calm as you try to calculate just how much time you have left amidst the fractured and convoluted images whirling through your dying brain; the good times and the bad, your mother and father, your sister and friends, various schools and workplaces you have attended, your video game-addicted first partner at the SVU, your pasta-loving fellow detective, your lieutenant...

The imagined snapshot of Olivia wavers in front of your gaze like an actual photograph blowing in the breeze, and you can almost reach out and pluck it from the misty air to hold the picture close to your heart, the first teardrops escaping down your cheeks to mix in with the cold drizzle streaking from the sky. You struggle to maintain the cool detachment that has blessedly descended over your crumpled form and is now outweighing the all-consuming terror of this situation, deciding to do an assessment of each part of your body to see how well you are faring in the aftermath of the shooting and if there is even a minuscule chance of survival.

Thankfully, the pain is not what you had feared it would be; after the initial explosion of agony that had seemed to cut a swath right through every last nerve ending in your body and left you gasping with utter shock, it has dulled down bit by bit until only numbness remains, with the occasional twinge of discomfort making itself known whenever you're able to shift slightly on the ground.

The blood is another story, however; the thick, red liquid pumping out at a rate so alarming that even the drenching rain isn't quick enough to wash it away before it is clinging to every surface that it encounters; the rough pavement you are sprawled upon, every inch of pale skin it can reach, and the clothing you had haphazardly thrown on that morning in your haste to make it to work on time.

By this point, you consider yourself to be pretty seasoned when it comes to guns and probably feel more at ease around them than you should; growing up in Georgia with a gun cabinet in the house, carrying a gun everyday as a part of your job, having a gun held on you multiple times throughout the course of your career, and actually getting shot when you'd been unaware that a gun was trained on you. You'd been lucky enough to escape a hail of bullets when the perpetrators had either missed or decided to lower their weapons while out in the field, although there is a vague recollection of that one instance when luck hadn't been on your side and there was a direct hit. You have only a hazy recall of the first time a bullet had pierced your skin and penetrated your body, and the memory of your slender form being thrown against the car and tumbling to the ground in a heap of pain is so fuzzy, you can't really compare it to what is happening now; to try and determine which scenario is worse.

It's safe to say that your luck has definitely run out for the second time, though; and if you absolutely had to choose, this situation likely trumps the previous one, considering you were surrounded by your concerned and fast-acting colleagues after being injured in the line of duty several years ago, and you are now lying alone on a soaking wet rooftop with no one else in sight. Tom Williams is long gone, the young man not sticking around to offer any sort of assistance in the wake of the catastrophic consequences of the choice he had made to point his gun in your direction and pull the trigger, but you are not the least bit surprised that the rapist didn't have a sudden change of heart and figures he is making one last bid for freedom before the rest of the squad catches up with him.

"Rollins!" a familiar shriek splits the air, along with the clip-clop of boots that are racing along the concrete, although you would much rather hear that scream in the throes of ecstasy instead of in the horror of this moment, your heart aching at what Olivia is about to come across.

The love of your life collapses next to you on the muddy gravel while relaying terse instructions through her radio, and despite how dire your situation is and not wanting the brunette to see you in this condition, the relief is palpable at the presence of Olivia Benson, the one you hold most dear. There is frantic chattering from the device in return, and you know your own radio and gun are lying around here somewhere, but your vision is becoming too dim to locate them and you discover that you can no longer turn your head.

"Oh god, Amanda, hold on for me, okay? Just hold on!"

You note the immediate change in name from your last to your first, a more intimate monicker that Olivia usually reserves for your time alone and doesn't utter too often when the two of you are at the precinct or out in the field. You know this is a rare occasion and would give anything to hear your surname barked roughly through those plump lips you had kissed so thoroughly that morning, instead of the frenzied way your name is spoken now, an uncharacteristic whimper attached to the end of Olivia's plea.

"Stay with me, sweetheart! Tell me where you're hurt. Where did you get hit?"

"Everywhere," you manage to choke out through a jaw that is chattering loudly with the chill seeping into your body, the taste of something metallic on your tongue and a wave of bile rising in your throat as you struggle to get the rest of your words out in a coherent manner. "He fired multiple shots...a few of them missed...but a few of them didn't..."

You don't even know the exact placement of your injuries, that beneficial numbness melting away to let the pain firmly take hold once again, and it feels like your entire being is on fire now, no specific body part any worse off than the next; just all-encompassing agony the likes of which you have never known before. When the prolonged wail of anguish emits from your mouth, it takes a moment to realize that the haunting noise has come from you and not some wounded animal cowering nearby, a similar sound emanating from the woman hovering above you.

Olivia's tears are falling steadily upon your face, the salty liquid combining with the cold rainwater and crimson blood, and you try as hard as you can to focus your blurry vision on the gorgeous dark eyes that are boring into your own, the older woman beginning to resemble some kind of ethereal being as she hovers there, and you are briefly unsure if you are still tethered to this earth or if you have begun to fade away. The immense amount of love you feel for this woman is nearly enough to obliterate the searing pain and the infringing darkness that you are sure you will never awaken from once it sweeps you away; something you were just recently able to work up the courage to admit to her despite your worry that it was too soon, and never more relieved when the sentiment was passionately returned without a hint of hesitation.

Your relationship with Olivia is still quite new and will unfortunately never get the chance to progress past the 'honeymoon phase', but you have loved this woman since before she was even aware of your existence, and now you love Noah like he is your own son. You are confident that Olivia will be okay, at least eventually; that she has her child to take care of and her squad to lean on, and this gives you a modicum of hope, even through the devastating realization that the future you have been planning together is about to come to a harsh and abrupt end.

You can see the same awareness on Olivia's tormented features; the recognition of where this situation is heading that she tries and fails to hide, because you know her too well by this point; that even though you haven't been dating for very long, the two of you have worked in such close quarters for years now and nothing gets by you. Olivia's mind and body, her facial expressions and speech patterns, her tenderness and anger, her joy and sorrow, and all the qualities that make her the incredible person she is, are as familiar to you as if they are your own.

"I tried to talk to him down, tried to reason with him and develop a connection, tried to alert everyone that I needed help once he started shooting..." You trail off and let loose with a series of ragged coughs that have your entire body convulsing and ending with an eerie rattling noise that reverberates low in your throat, a spike of shame and regret cutting through the emotional and physical anguish. "I thought I had him...I'm usually so good at this...they always end up listening to me...I let him get away..."

"Shhh," Olivia soothes in a ragged tone that makes it sound as if her voice is being torn to shreds. "It's okay, sweetheart, it's okay. We'll catch him. You did your best, just like you always do. You're an amazing detective and you never give up, but it's probably best to be quiet and take a rest right now, okay? Help will be here soon."

You fall silent at once, not because you're actually intending on following your lieutenant's orders; you've never been good at taking instruction or doing as you're told, you've been a proud badass since the day you were born and will leave this life the same way you entered it, but because the simple act of speaking has stolen most of what is left of your energy and breath, leaving your bloodied figure molded to the pavement and paralyzed with fear.

There are black dots creeping into your peripheral vision now, the darkness growing thicker with every passing second, and a cold that has nothing to do with the weather is swiftly taking up residence inside your body, each of your limbs stiffening one by one. You are aware of Olivia's gentle hands on you, flitting from one point to the next as if she doesn't quite know where to touch or which area is in need of the most help, the older woman's blazer having been removed in an effort to staunch the flow of blood that seems to be spurting from all directions at once.

"Kiss me, Liv," you gurgle out in a whisper, your exhausted eyes struggling to focus on the beautiful woman in front of you, longing to be swept up in those strong arms so Olivia can soothe away your pain like she has done so many times before, but resolving to be content with this final token of affection. "One more time, okay? Just one last time. I need to feel you, I need to know you're here with me."

"It's not the last time," Olivia argues weakly, her tears falling more steadily than the rain now as they continue to trickle down onto your face. "There's plenty of time. And I'm here with you, Amanda, I'm right here. I love you and I'm not going anywhere, I promise."

"I love you too, Liv, but I can't stay. I gotta go," you murmur desperately, your eyelids becoming so heavy that you can no longer hold them open and your lips quirking with sluggish delight at the sweet pressure of Olivia's mouth against your own, the gesture one of love and devotion and farewell, before the other woman pulls away with a breathy, stifled cry.

You can't see or hear or feel her now, but you know she is there and you're not alone, the love of your life accompanying you to the very end, and it's a level of comfort and relief that transcends anything you've ever known as the rapidly encroaching darkness becomes permanent and there is only peace.

xxxxxxxxxx

_*Song lyrics from MAGIC!'s "Kiss Me"_


End file.
